Fashion Inclinations
by bare-footed-muse
Summary: The colourful streets of Camden market hold so many vibrant people- and Merlin and his hush puppies. Modern day, once and future fic. I couldn't help myself: featuring ExcessivelyCamp!Arthur. Light-hearted hopefully humourous slash fic. Mild language?


Helloo :)

So, considering various epilouges for _Nonchalance_, this bunny sunk its teeth into me. It didn't really go with the rest of the story, but the savage bunny proved difficult to shake... so it had happen sometime, and yes, it is and ExcessivelyCamp!Arthur fic.

Ah, happy days.

read, review, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. I think poor Bradley James might crack.

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_~Fashion Inclinations~_

The street shivered in the wind. An Autumn day in London; cracked leaves chewed by tyres of cars, every kind of person huddled in scarves and jackets. Some more eccentric than others.

Merlin focused intently on the row of desert scarves before him. For the past five minutes, he'd been trying to avoid the critical eye of a pretty assistant with artistically mussed hair. She rapped her sharp neon orange nails against the countertop; obviously deciding whether or not he was enough of a fashion disaster to even begin on or not. Merlin ruffled his dark hair with a self-conscious hand. Personally he'd never felt there was anything wrong with his clothes. They were just a little… more conventional than most of Camden's inhabitant's. He had dark hair didn't he? And dark jeans? Very cool. Perhaps the jumper and hush puppies were less so, but Merlin felt there'd never been time for being co-ordinated in the hectic mornings. It was enough that he was out of bed and dressed.

Clearing his throat loudly, Merlin strode from the shop.

It was only after he's grabbed a disposable box of eastern food from the many food stores that it occurred to Merlin that perhaps he should stop coming to the market if this was all that ever happened. Food the only purchase he ever made, and still he insisted on wandering the colourful streets and watching the vibrant people. Of course, Merlin knew too well his main motivation coming here, and it wasn't noodles nor orange-nailed assistants. It had been, well, somewhere on this site that-

Not that he would admit that to anyone.

Chewing a lump of some form of foreign-cooked meat thoughtfully, Merlin sidestepped past a lovey couple. The face of his best friend Millie rose to his mind. It rolled her eyes: Millie- quite rightly, in truth- believed Merlin was still pining over some lost love. It was her opinion that he should move on- the number of pounding hangovers he'd received from her ill-conceived attempts to find him someone simply saddened him. It was ridiculous, he knew.

The once and future king was not coming back any time soon.

This depressing chain of thoughts was interrupted by distraction in the form of Millie herself.

"Speak of the devil," he muttered. "And the devil shall appear."

"Good afternoon to you too." Millie, in her skinny jeans, dark eyeliner and her precariously fixed hair fell into step beside him.

"No work this afternoon?"

"Nah. Got Frenchie to cover my shift… I'm meeting a friend."

Merlin looked up from his noodles with interest. "A friend…?"

She laughed easily. Merlin rather thought this was one of the reasons he liked her so much. "Not the kind of friend you're thinking of. He's a cousin. Haven't seen him for years, but he was in the area and has never understood the boundaries of normal social etiquette, so course he looked me up in the bloody yellow pages."

Merlin chuckled. "Do I get to meet this friend?"

"Of course. In fact, I have a feeling you'll get on _very_ well."

"Millie. If this is another scheme…"

"Merlin. Would I?"

"Yes, you would." They shared a laugh, Merlin tossing his now empty polystyrene food container into a bin. "Where are you meeting him?"

"Just by the pub. We're going to have a drink."

"When?"

"Right about now actually." She replied, checking the face of her studded watch. Suddenly, her eyes darted up to his exceptionally stylish woollen jumper.

"Merlin, _what_ are you wearing?"

Merlin sighed.

"Vintage. Christmas '05."

Millie's eyes creased with exasperation and amusememt.

And Merlin saw him.

"Millie! Sweetie! How are you?" A man, a man with bright blue eyes, gelled hair and tight jeans skipped over. "It's been too long!"

"Hey! Merlin, I'd like you to meet my cousin, Arthur."

With a pout and swinging hips, Arthur minced over to shake Merlin's dumbstruck hand. "Millie's told me _so _much about you… _Merlin_." The blonde threw back his head and let out one burst of joyful laughter. He clapped his hands together. "Merlin! That jumper is gorgeous! Crochet hook, right? Oh!" He raised both his hands in a serious manner. And flapped them about. "Ok, guys… drink?"

Back straight and feet in what was very similar to a ballet first position, Arthur took both Millie's and Merlin's arms. "So, tell me, what are you doing these days? Oh, Millie, I _love_ that nail varnish! Where did you get it?"

And arm in arm with the once and future king wearing a rainbow-patterned top, Merlin felt he was finally happy once more.


End file.
